


Each Man Kills the Thing He Loves

by packyourknivesandgo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Betrayal, Clubbing, Dancing, Drug Use, Eventual Sherlock, M/M, Morlock, Oral Sex, Punishment, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Sheriarty - Freeform, Smut, Spanking, doppelgangers, jimlock, maybe Mormorlock, mormor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-06-08 07:18:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6844612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/packyourknivesandgo/pseuds/packyourknivesandgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian is a bit naughty and betrays Jim. </p><p>Can Jim forgive him?</p><p>This story explores the dynamics of the relationships formed among Jim, Sebastian, and Sherlock told from Seb's POV. <br/>---------<br/>Title taken from an Oscar Wilde quote.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loyalty is Demonstrated

"Sometimes you just have to sit down and get things out. Otherwise you crack and let the words pour out of you like sand from a broken hourglass, and you become the ill-functioning piece of hardware you were always afraid you were destined to be." 

The madman continues with his lecture, unaware that I am analyzing everything he tells me. Is this insight into his psyche? Does he realize that by revealing his methodology, he is making himself vulnerable to me? He must realize what he's doing. 

"Sebastian, are you paying attention? This is all quite important."

"Wha-? Oh right. Sorry. Must've gotten lost in thought."

Jim massages his temples. I have tried his patience, and it would be best not to vex him too much. I've learned this the hard way before. There was no orientation for this job: it's a steep learning curve. 

"Please continue."

"As the mastermind of a vast empire, my secrets are a valuable commodity. I cannot afford to have secrets revealed by unreliable technologies or employees. Do you understand?"

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He knows. 

"Yes, boss."

"Are you aware of the turn of phrase 'loose lips sink ships'?"

"'Course. It was part of the propaganda during World War II used--" He cuts me off. 

"I couldn't give a shit about the etymology, Moran!" 

He is seething with rage, pressure building beneath the surface. Fingers massaging his temples again, his eyes meet mine. 

I do my best to remain neutral--unmoving, stoic, silent. Any move might be my last. 

Smoothing the front of his suit to calm himself, he slowly walks toward me until our faces are closer than they've ever been and whispers. 

"You've betrayed me, Sebastian. Do you know what that means?"

Death. It means death. This is why he was giving me a glimpse into his mind. It won't matter if I know how he functions since I'm a dead man. 

I nod, waiting for his move. 

"Are you not going to fight for your life? You were a soldier! At least die like one."

"You're correct. I betrayed you. There is no point in trying to convince you to spare me."

"Oh, come now, Moran," he removes his blazer, produces a titanium blade, and rubs it gently across my cheek, "You're sucking all of the fun out of this. At least let me enjoy taking this from you."

I tilt my head back, stretching my neck out for him to easily access it, uttering what will likely be my final words. 

"Please enjoy. I'm sorry."

I feel the biting tip of the blade touch my Adam's apple. This is really happening. I try my best not to make a noise of surprise as he leans forward and licks the trickle of blood from my neck, concluding his taste by pressing a kiss to the cut. 

"You're lucky that I'm a forgiving person, Moran. Any other day, and you'd have been long dead."

I'm still paralyzed by fear and staring at Jim in disbelief. Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm pinning him to the floor, one hand around his throat and squeezing. 

"Moran," he sputters and coughs and struggles against my strength, "Mo--." 

His eyes are bulging, face turning red. 

I snap back into my body as if I was existing in another plane. 

A blood vessel in Jim's eye has burst, turning his eye a frightening shade of crimson. 

Shit. What am I doing? I remove my hands and pull back from Jim, allowing oxygen to flow through his mouth and nostrils once more. 

He sits up, coughing violently and rubbing his neck. 

"Fucking Christ, Moran!" He smirks, and I notice a bulge in his pants that wasn't there before. "A little warning would've been nice."

He rushes me, small but surprisingly strong, and knocks me back, biting my lower lip until it bleeds as he--what is he doing?--he's kissing me. 

Without hesitation, my hands thread through Jim's hair as I accept his advance with a moan. 

Do I want this? Maybe. Does it matter? No. Does he have feelings for me? Almost definitely not. This is a business transaction: I betrayed Jim, and this is his way of reclaiming me. I keep my life, and he keeps his most valued employee. 

As Jim crawls into my lap, I push aside all of my questions and give myself over to him completely. I grab his arse and knead it as he grinds his clothed hardness against mine. 

Jim neglects my lips and travels down my jaw to my neck. If I am expecting any gentleness from him, he actively dashes those expectations by sucking and biting on my throat so hard that it bruises and bleeds in places. 

I slip one hand into the back of his pants, sliding it up and down his crack tantalizingly before circling his entrance. Simultaneously, I rip his shirt open with one hand, buttons scattering across the floor. 

"You're going to pay for that, Moran." 

He tries to admonish me, but when I push him backward and latch onto his left nipple, rolling it between my teeth, his chiding is lost in the midst of a deep moan. It takes less than thirty seconds for me to remove his trousers and pants before working my middle finger inside of him, hooking it to rub against his sweet spot. 

"Fuck, Sebastian."

He's calling me by my first name again. This is good. I bite the inside of each of his thighs and take his length in hand as I lick a thick stripe up the underside of his cock. I hollow my cheeks and suck roughly on the head of his dick like a lolly. 

Jim's hands both go to the back of my head and try to force my head down further, but I don't give in easily. 

After a few more seconds of torturous pressure, I slowly swallow his length, inserting a second finger to stretch his entrance more as he hits the back of my throat. 

Then, easing my mouth up and down on his cock, I make my fingers match the speed of my oral ministrations. 

All I hear are strangled moaning noises as Jim tries to once again control the speed of my sucking. This time I let him grip my hair and set the pace, making sure my fingers thrust in the perfect rhythm to match it. 

"Ohhhhh Christ. Ohhhhh fuck."

So Jim is very vocal during sex. I like it. 

"Stop--stop, Sebastian. Wait!"

His voice is almost pleading, and knowing that I owe him, I pull my mouth off of him. I realize he's panting. 

"Yes?"

"Take off your pants and bend over the arm of the couch."

"Did you not enj--"

"Don't you dare question me."

Jim's look is murderous again, so I do as he instructs. Suddenly, I feel a hand smoothing over the plane of my arse before a smack and a deep warmth spreading over one of my cheeks. 

"Your bum is turning a delicious shade of magenta, Sebastian. I'd have done this a long time ago had I known it was so lovely."

Maybe this isn't just retribution. He slaps me a few more times. 

I hear a quiet thud behind me, realizing what the sound was as I feel my cheeks spreading and his tongue gradually penetrating my entrance. I can't hold back a soft moan. 

"Seems like you might enjoy it too."

This is the last thing Jim says to me before an all-out assault on my arse, licking and fingering me to prepare me for what is to come. 

Two minutes in and I'm moaning like a whore. 

Then, without warning, no fingers. Not even a tongue. I sigh in frustration. 

"Shhhhhh, my Sebastian. We've hardly begun."

He's rubbing my arse again, slapping it intermittently. I feel my cheeks spread again, and Jim's full length slides up and down my crack, teasing me. 

"Please."

Damn. That came out much more desperate than I intended. 

"Please what, Sebastian?"

"Please...fuck me."

Jim grabs a fistful of my hair tightly and jerks my head back, whispering in my ear. 

"I'm not just going to fuck you, Sebastian. I'm going to claim you. After this, you belong to nobody but me. Understand?"

I understood. I wanted this more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. 

"Yes."

Jim forces the head of his cock past my entrance and slams fully into my arse. 

It's so painful that I'm seeing white spots. I don't make a noise. 

"Oh come now, Sebastian. This is what you asked for. Make some pretty noises for me."

Jim smacks my muscular cheek again, this time eliciting a moan from me as he pulls out almost fully before slamming back into me again. 

"Gooooood. Oh Sebastian. You're so tight. Is this your first time?"

I try to rock against Jim to set a bit of a pace, but he grabs my hips to maintain control. I groan in frustration. 

"Yes."

"If I'd known, I'd have made it a bit more special."

Pull out. Slam.  
Pull out. Slam. 

I'm panting and frustrated. 

"You know. Candles, flowers, fluffy sheets for us to wrap ourselves in as I ravish you. Those things."

He speeds up his thrusts and tightens his grip on my hair. I moan deeply each time he thrusts. He's hitting my sweet spot every time. 

"Though I suppose you deserve this. Betrayal and all. It's a real shame though. Could've been quite lovely."

I grind against the arm of the couch, trying to get some relief for my aching cock and making some noises just like Jim requested. 

"This is good."

"Of course it is, Sebastian. I never disappoint."

Jim alternates between quick and slow thrusts, practically lifting my hips off the couch. 

Finally, after Jim and I are both moaning and panting quite loudly, my overly-sensitized sweet spot shoves me over the edge, causing my entrance to clench around Jim's cock. I feel an electric sensation shoot up my spine as he fills my hole with his come. I would be content to live like this forever. 

But I can't. 

As soon as Jim finishes coming, he pulls out and walks to the shower. 

"Clean yourself up, Moran. We have work to do."


	2. Trust is Earned

Several minutes after Jim leaves for his shower, I pull myself up off of the arm of the couch. There is a large wet spot staining it: a Rorshack test for this evening. Appropriate that it looks like my cock, I suppose. I'd better clean it up, or I'll never hear the end of it. 

I trudge to my bathroom--Jim needs round-the-clock security so I'm his live in--and turn the shower on as hot as it will go. Only when the whole bathroom is filled with steam do I get in the shower. 

Lathering soap all over my body, I notice that some places feel more tender than others, which makes me think back to what just happened. What was that, exactly? I don't know, but I think I liked it. 

Okay. I loved it, as evidenced by the brand new erection I am sporting. 

"Fuck."

I am Sebastian Moran, proprietor of the Basher Moran Special, after all. I'd like to give Jim that experience. 

No. I can't think that way. But my body doesn't listen. 

I reach down and squeeze my fist around my hardness, trying to adjust my fingers to mirror the tightness I felt when fingering him. 

"Ohhh fuck."

Is this what he felt when he fucked me? How did he not blow his load immediately?

My other hand supports me as I lean against the wall, slowly thrusting in and out of my sudsy fist. I try to keep quiet by biting my lip, but a whimper escapes. 

"Were you not satisfied by my efforts earlier, Sebastian?"

Startled by Jim's sudden presence in the bathroom--how is he so quiet?--I jerk and thrust forward so quickly that the tip of my length touches the cold tile. The immediate hot and cold sensations combined with the pressure from my fist and sound of Jim's voice elicit a loud moan from me. 

"Sorry, sir. I was satisfied."

"Then why are you wanking in the shower like some pubescent youth?" He sighs petulantly. 

"I--I don't know. I have a strong libido."

"Very well. Would you like some assistance?"

What? He's offering again, so soon? Is this a trick? I don't care. 

"Yes."

"I'm not going to touch you. I've just showered and am wearing a suit worth more than your life."

I grunt. 

"What were you thinking about, Sebastian?"

Should I be honest? Definitely. I'm not making that mistake again. 

"Fucking you, sir."

"Ohhhhhhh. Gooood for you. Unafraid to dream big, I see. Describe to me what you're picturing."

I chew my lip as I dive back into my fantasy. 

"You're handcuffed face down on a bed, but your hips are lifted because you're on your knees."

"Very nice. Likely the only way you'll see me submit to you is in your fantasies."

I begin moving back and forth in my hand again. 

"I have a tight grip on your hips and am penetrating you with rapid thrusts."

"Not a good enough reason to use the word 'penetrate'."

I'm lost in the fantasy again, thrusting exactly how I described. I can't make out Jim's comments, only hearing the lilting tones he emanates, pushing me ever nearer to the edge. 

"Fuck, Jim. You're so tight."

Jim rolls his eyes. He fake moans as he mocks me. 

I don't realize the moan is fake and groan as I come hard, splattering the tiles. Once I've finished, I rinse off and open the shower. 

Jim is still standing there. 

"You do have quite the cock, Sebastian. Maybe one day, I will let you fuck me."

The bastard was teasing me. 

I get dressed in my usual getup: jeans, black turtleneck to cover the bruises, and boots. Where Jim needs to stand out, I need to blend in. 

"What's the job this time, boss?"

"We, rather you, are going to fix the problem you created through your little act of betrayal. I'm simply going to make sure it doesn't happen again."

I nod curtly in reply. Talking too much about it will only make matters worse. 

Jim and I get in his car, and we begin our journey to Baker Street. Christ almighty, what is he going to have me do? I don't have to wait long for an answer. 

"Moran," he's angry again, "you are going to retrieve the flash drive and wipe Sherlock's hard drive, so there's no chance of him discovering my plans. You'll be wearing this camera in order for me to monitor you."

"Yes, sir."

"You will complete this task at any cost, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

I park across the street from Speedy's, Jim attaches the surveillance camera to my dog tag chain, and I take a deep breath before exiting the car. Mrs. Hudson flings open the door before I have a chance to knock. 

"Sebastian! Where have you been? Sherlock's been worried sick about you. Hasn't said it to me directly, but I can tell. Woman's intuition, you know."

I turn on the charm. She still has no idea who I really am. Good thing Jim wasn't so angry he blew my cover. 

"I'm sorry. I had a family emergency and had to leave town suddenly for a couple of days. I didn't mean to worry either of you."

"It's quite alright dear. Head upstairs; I know he will be relieved to see you."

I nod and smile as she pats my shoulder. In another life, Mrs. Hudson could've been my mother. 

I climb the stairs and am holding my hand up to knock when Sherlock opens the door. What is with the people in this apartment?

"Sebastian, where have you been?"

It's awkward. We stand several feet apart, neither moving because we are unsure how to act. I finally step toward him, closing the gap to kiss him. 

"There was an emergency. My brother was in hospital, and I had to go take care of him."

My excuse is full of holes, but I'm hoping Sherlock will be as blinded by his affection for me as he was with John. 

This is my secret: I'm in a relationship with Sherlock. Originally a plan orchestrated by Jim after his attempt to "play gay" wasn't successful, it wasn't supposed to go this far. 

"Is your brother alright?"

I can see the concern crinkling the corners of his eyes. I lie. 

"Yes. Much better. He's back at home now."

"That's wonderful. You know--I was worried about you. I thought you might've left me forever."

I bury my face in Sherlock's neck and inhale the scent of him, knowing that I've got to play things carefully. I reach for his hand, threading my fingers through his and whisper. 

"I know. I'm sorry."

If I don't handle things properly, this might destroy him. 

"All is forgiven."

He kisses me tenderly, much different from the aggressive, possessive kisses from Jim. Sherlock leads me to his chair, where he pushes me to sit down and curls up in my lap--well, more like curls up and covers my whole body. Neither one of us is exactly small. 

I run my fingers through his curls. He sighs contentedly now that he knows I haven't abandoned him. I wonder how many nights he was unable to sleep because I wasn't in the bed next to him. 

I'm a terrible person. 

How could I simultaneously want to belong to Jim and Sherlock? 

I'm fucked up. 

But they complement both sides of my personality so well. 

I don't want to hurt either of them. That is my true betrayal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Currently, the plan is to post every three day.


	3. Respect is Given

My phone buzzes. I know who the text is from, so I hold it to the side where Sherlock has no chance of seeing it. 

"Get the flash drive, wipe his hard drive, and get out, Moran."

Fuck you, Jim. Fuck you for making me do this in the first place. Fuck you for making me hurt him. 

I rub Sherlock's back gently. 

"Sherlock darling?" My voice quivers the slightest bit, and I pray he doesn't notice. "Have you found a navy flash drive around here? I seem to have lost mine, and the last place I remember having it is here."

"Hmmm? Oh yes. I thought it might be yours, so I set it on the mantel."

I kiss his forehead, relieved it hasn't been destroyed. But I can't trust it. I still have to wipe his computer. 

"Do you mind if I use your computer? The drive contains a document I need to send to my superiors, and they've been after me to get them the information on it."

"Of course. I'll brew us some tea while you send it to them." 

He unfurls himself from my lap and shuffles to the kitchen. 

I grab my flash drive off the mantel, plug it into his laptop, and open the mayday virus on the flash drive, erasing everything from his computer. Before he walks back into the room, I have removed the flash drive, closed his computer, and pretend to take a phone call. 

"Hello. Yes. I just--. Okay. Okay. Now? Yes, I understand."

I rush into the kitchen, wrapping my arms around Sherlock and kissing him on the cheek. 

"Work called,” I mutter miserably, “Apparently I have violated some sort of protocol, and they need to meet with me immediately. I'm sorry, but I'll make it up to you soon. I promise."

Sherlock lets out a resigned sigh. He's missed me as much as I've missed him in the past couple of days. But duty is duty, and I must be loyal. 

When I get back in the car, Jim sneers at me. 

"Took you long enough."

"Not in the mood, boss."

 

Sometimes Jim will push and prod my buttons until I explode, but the look on my face sends the message loud and clear. 

My head is pounding, brain clouded over with everything Sherlock and I just said to each other. Frustrated because I slipped up and lost the flash drive containing Jim's all-important plans. Frustrated because I've lied to Sherlock about so many things. Maybe Jim will let me keep my fake, but somehow real, relationship. I can hope. 

He waves me off and tells me to head to the train station. We have a job awaiting us in the country. 

I put the car in drive and speed off toward the train station, putting as much distance between myself and Sherlock as I can. 

 

Once we arrive at the station, Jim procures the tickets as I carry our bags to the platform, waiting for our train to arrive. He arrives with the tickets just as our engine pulls into the station. We board and find a compartment to sit in. 

I sit in silence as Jim explains the purpose of our trip to Bristol: something about meeting up with one of his operatives. To be honest, I wasn't paying much attention. 

It didn't matter. My only job on this trip was to be the muscle in case things went south. 

"Sebastian? Are you listening?"

I mumble something to the affirmative, and he continues. Jim sometimes talks out loud to sort issues; my purpose was to be the body in the room so he didn't feel crazy. 

He's looking at me again. Shit. He must've said something that required a response from me. 

"Sorry, boss. What was that?"

"I asked if you missed him."

"Him who?" 

Shit. I knew exactly who he was on about. He's read me like a book. 

"Don't be stupid. Sherlock."

"Oh. Do you want the truth or what I want to believe?"

"You're still being stupid, Moran. Tell me the truth. I'm already quite familiar with the lie you're telling yourself." 

Why was he still so angry with me? Was he jealous? 

I barely whisper. 

"Yes. Very much."

Jim looks at me fiercely as he backhands me so forcefully that my head hits the window. 

I rub my cheek, feeling the flesh burning and my head forming a bruise, but I turn to face him defiantly. Then, my features soften. 

I deserve this punishment. I deserve worse. 

"Can I ask you a question, boss?"

"You can try."

"Why do you care that I miss him?"

I couldn't bear to use Sherlock's name with Jim. 

"Are you jealous?"

Jim studied his fingernails and knitted his eyebrows as if disgusted by the thought. 

"Jealous? Me? Of whom?" he scoffed. 

"I dunno. Me. Him. You could make an argument for either."

"It's true. Isn't it? You're jealous."

"Shut your mouth, Moran."

"You are."

"Moran, I'm warning you..."

"What are you gonna do? You know I'm right."

"I'll kill you."

"No you won't. You couldn't do it earlier, and you can't do it now."

The thought obviously becomes overwhelming for him, so he hits me again. This time it isn't an open hand but a fist instead. Right in the jaw. 

I shake my head and rub my jaw as he hisses through his teeth. 

"You overestimate your value, Moran."

I grit my teeth, anticipating the truth I don't want to hear him admit. 

"Then it's Sherlock you want,” I whisper. 

The thought and Jim’s hesitation nearly kills me. 

"No,” he says, unconvincingly, his voice faltering a bit. 

"Then what exactly is it you want?"

In an act that would almost definitely signal insubordination, I lean forward, grab Jim's shoulders, and shake him and yell. 

"What do you want?"

 

He looks startled. 

“Get your hands off me, Moran.”

“Not until you tell me.” 

“I'm serious,” Jim’s voice is dangerous. 

 

“Please…”

That comes across as more of a whimper than a command. Great. I sound like a little bitch now. 

“It would ruin your life and perfect little mental image of how grand life could be. I don't think you could bear it, Sebastian.”

Just like that, Jim has shifted back to an almost compassionate tone. 

Is it an act?

Every time the bastard isolates me and makes me feel like shit, and he is able to pull me back in every. fucking. time. It's because he knows it shatters my fucked up little heart into a million little shards to see him so melancholic. 

Jim plucked me from oblivion. 

He took me in. 

He clothed me and gave me a job. 

He might even love me in his own way. 

And what did I do in return? 

I leave him. 

I lose his flash drive, leaving it in the hands of the only person who could likely decrypt it (other than me, that is). 

And I very obviously develop feelings for his archenemy, his mirrored opposite. 

I'm shit. 

I'm worse than shit. 

I'm in love with him. 

He's all I have, really. 

I swear I see him blink away a single tear before he clears his throat and says softly. 

"None of my feelings are your concern, Sebastian. Just remember: you belong to me now."

"Yes, sir."

What have I done? 

It seems as if I'm destined to be his lap dog for the rest of my life, however short that may be. 

We spend most of the train ride in silence, my phone buzzing with messages from Sherlock a few times. He is not a demanding boyfriend, as the behaviors I am exhibiting are similar to the ones he does when he is preoccupied with a mystery to solve. We are both busy people. 

Jim sighs dramatically every time my phone buzzes, and I ignore him until he says, "I don't want you to speak to Sherlock again."

I wish I could say I didn't anticipate this, but Jim is just that vindictive and possessive. 

"What? Why?"

"You nearly ruined everything."

"Nearly. Not ruined. It was an accident. I thought I'd already been punished for losing the hard drive."

Wrong thing to say. Jim ripples with rage again. 

"You thought that was enough to absolve your sins? I'm disappointed, really. I thought you were smarter, Moran."

"I am. You're just stubborn."

Jim's eyes become almost black as he attacks, hitting me wherever he can manage, clawing at my scars. It's only when his tensile hands begin squeezing my throat that I realize I'm in trouble. 

I try to push him off me, but he's much harder to fight off than you'd think, especially when I'm oxygen deprived. I fight until my vision starts to fade to black, and it is only then that Jim releases his hands. 

My chest rapidly expands and contracts as I gasp and heave, trying to steady my oxygen flow and not hyperventilate. 

"Don't push me, Moran. I will kill you."

 

This is the man--well, one of the men--I love. 

Jim is still standing over me but leaning into my lap. I am suddenly aware of every place his body touches mine. 

The train lurches to a stop. 

The moment has ended. I have survived. 

We retreat to our separate spaces and prepare to exit the cramped compartment.


	4. Affection is Shown

There isn't much to Bristol. Same shit as everywhere else. 

Boring. 

Perhaps I'm spending too much time with Jim and Sherlock. 

We drive to some run-down looking farm. It looks like all they might grow here is rocks. 

A rotund, hairy man wearing old, dirty overalls answers the door of the farmhouse. 

What does Jim want with a farmer anyway?

The farmer's name is Henry Harper. His eyes look vacant, like he's not all there. It's only once we are meeting that I realize the farmer is the operative Jim spoke of. 

I suppose anyone who works with Jim isn't quite right in the head anyway. 

"Mr. Harper, I trust that you've made arrangements to have your produce crates shipped to the previously discussed locations in a timely manner?"

I stand at a relaxed attention behind Jim as they sit at the kitchen table, a look on my face that says "don't cross me". 

"Yeah--Uh, yes, sir."

"Good. There haven't been any issues with overseas transport?"

"No, sir."

If there are, Jim will skin him. There is zero room for error in this line of work. 

"Do you have the produce prepared to pack and distribute now?"

"I do."

"Excellent! The packages we have been waiting for should be arriving here shortly. I've been in contact with--well, you don't need to know that part. They should arrive in a few hours."

Harper just nods. 

I wish I'd listened to Jim better on the train now. This is turning out to be more interesting than I thought. 

After what seems like an eternity, but is in actuality about two minutes of awkward silence, Jim breaks it. 

"Sebastian, would you like a tour of the property? I'm sure Mr. Harper has something he needs to do while we wait, but I can give you one."

"Sure, boss."

This is odd behavior. My mind begins to go through all of the possible scenarios for what Jim's true intentions are. Does he want to punish me more? Did he bring me here to kill me?

Jim leads me out the back door of the farmhouse to what looks like the storm cellar entrance from The Wizard of Oz but creepier. 

Great. I've been brought out back to be slaughtered like an animal on the farm. He really is going to kill me. 

With great effort, Jim pulls open the heavy doors whose rusted hinges squeal in protest. 

 

I study the doors to see how quickly I’d be able to escape if I was able to defend myself. That was not a likely scenario; what Jim lacks in size, he makes up for in quickness. 

"Follow me and close the doors behind you," he says with a smirk. 

It looks exactly like I imagine a storm cellar should look: random supplies in a small, dirty room. 

Jim turns on the light, illuminating  
our dingy confines before heading to the far corner of the room and caressing the wall gently. 

He has officially cracked. 

"Uhhhh. What are you doing?"

"Hush, Sebastian. Did you really think I just wanted to show you an old storm cellar?"

I chuckle nervously. 

"To be honest, I thought you might be bringing me down here to kill me."

"No. That would be a waste at this juncture. Besides, it would be too messy."

I hear a sound similar to the one the cellar doors made when opening and notice that one of the storage shelves is moving, swinging open. It's a secret door. 

"Come along, Sebastian."

This is so unexpected that I don't even question how the seemingly-inept farmer has this below his house. 

The entrance reveals a large room with other rooms branching off from it. This large room is better lit than the cellar and seems to hold various equipment for pumping and filtering water, in addition to fertilizers and other farming related items. 

"Why does he have secret storage just for farm supplies?"

"Because, Sebastian, it would be best if the authorities were unaware of some of Mr. Harper's crops."

I follow him to one of the rooms branching off from the main area. This room is very brightly lit, humid, and filled with tall, leafy plants almost wall-to-wall. 

"Is--is this marijuana?"

"Of course."

"What about the other rooms?"

"Half of them are for growing marijuana. The other half are for growing coca plants. Except the processing room and the lab."

"Lab?"

"Yes. He manufactures the cocaine here as well."

"Holy shit."

"I know."

"Would you like to try some? We need to test the quality of our shipment anyway."

I think for a moment. High Jim might be entertaining. 

"No to the cocaine, but I'd like to smoke with you." 

"Very well. We have time."

Jim leads me to the processing room, which also has a couch, chair, and television in it. 

I guess you need to be comfortable when you spend great amounts of time in here. 

He produces a pipe, plucks a healthy sized bud off of a mound of weed on the table, and sits next to me on the couch to pack the bowl. 

Though my experience is limited, the marijuana looks incredibly potent. 

"Have you smoked before, Sebastian?"

"When I was at Eton. That was a lifetime ago though."

"Would you be more comfortable shotgunning the smoke from me?"

"I think so--yes. If you don't mind."

Jim takes a big drag off the pipe and leans toward me, sensually exhaling the smoke into my mouth as I inhale. 

I hold it as long as I can before releasing my breath. My body begins to relax and feel heavy already. 

 

It's like riding a bicycle, which I've ironically never learned to do. 

We repeat this action, and I feel like I'm melting into the couch. I take my hand and smooth it over his cheek, giggling. We lock eyes, and he giggles too. It's the most relaxed I've ever seen him, and he is so beautiful that I can barely breathe. 

The way he is looking at me is indescribable. It's like he wants to consume me and keep me protected at the same time. 

Jim straddles my lap, takes a drag from his pipe again, and this time instead of simply holding his mouth open and exhaling, he grabs my jaw and kisses me, slowly releasing the smoke into my mouth as I kiss him back. 

I forget about trying to hold my breath as I slide my fingers through his coarse yet soft jet black hair. I moan and tilt my head back as he kisses down my jaw, his lips like burning silk on my skin. 

He mumbles something about my turtleneck as his hands slide under the fabric, and his fingers splay as they travel over my abs to my chest. Everything he touches feels like he's creating static electric charges as he continues to pull off my shirt. 

I absently play with the waist of his trousers, rubbing the crest of his hips as I untuck his dress shirt. The crinkling sound of his shirt as the fabric folds and crinkles fills my over heightened sense of hearing. It is overly stimulating, so I push it off of his body, dropping it on the floor. 

At some point we become horizontal on the couch, him on top of me as he continues to press hot kisses to my sensitive skin and even more sensitive scars. 

I start slightly when I realize that Jim has placed a hand between us and is toying with my stiff cock over the fabric of my jeans. 

"Just take them offfffff," I moan. 

For once, he follows my order, kissing his way down to the zip of my jeans, which he undoes with his teeth. Jim has been making burning eye contact with me the whole time, but as soon as his wet mouth starts teasing my cock through my pants, I tilt my head and arch my back in utter pleasure. 

If he doesn't stop teasing, I'm going to make a huge mess before he even begins. 

"Bosssss"

"What, Seb?"

Seb? Seb is a new one. 

"Afraid. Fu--can you--ohhhh--stop--just one--oh fuck."

Jim's removed my pants by this point and is now blowing me in earnest. 

I throw my arms above my head in defeat and use what leverage I have to thrust back into his mouth. My loud moans accompanied by obscene sucking noises fill the room. 

His mouth. That fucking mouth. 

With alarm, I realize that he's pushing me too far. 

"Jim!" I cry out. 

He looks up at me but doesn't stop. 

"I gonna--"

Jim's hand covers my mouth as he swallows me to the hilt, massaging my balls simultaneously. 

I take this as permission. 

With a final arch of my back and a moan Mr. Harper's distant neighbors could likely hear, I come hard down my boss' throat, holding his head down on my pulsing cock until I'm spent. 

I fall back on the couch as he removes his mouth from me, wiping it delicately with his fingers. 

"Well, Sebastian. If we don't get a noise complaint, I'll be impressed."

I just chuckle and try to catch my breath. I'm still seeing stars. 

Finally, I ask, "What now, boss?"

"We wait, Sebastian. Take a nap. I know you're exhausted."

Jim sits up, checks the time, and turns on the tv to veg out until his high fades. Jim's hand is resting on me, his typically deft fingers trailing absently and slowly over my thighs and most sensitive areas. 

I drift off to sleep, still moderately aroused and exposed for everyone to see.


	5. Comfort is Provided

I wake up to the sound of Jim's voice floating through the air. I'm hard again and peek down to see Jim's hand wrapped loosely around my cock, lazily stroking it as he talks on the phone. I'm tempted to make some very loud and scandalous noises, but instead I pretend I'm asleep to see how long he will keep it up. 

Jim hangs up the phone and utters flatly, "I know you're awake, Sebastian."

I stretch and yawn, looking at him with bleary eyes. 

"Damn. I thought you might continue."

"No time, I'm afraid. Our courier has arrived."

I sigh dramatically for Jim's benefit and wink at him before rolling off the couch to get dressed. 

"What is the courier delivering anyway? It seems as if you have everything you need to ship here already."

"Not quite. It's a special type of bag. Prevents detection when passing through inspection. Our efforts would be foiled without it."

"How long have you been running this operation?"

As I ask the question, my phone vibrates with a new text from Sherlock. It's something he found online that he thought I'd find funny. I do, so I chuckle and reply. 

Jim sneers, "About as long as you've been dating Sherlock. I needed something to keep my mind occupied while you were busy, so this is my latest project."

"Couldn't you have taken up ceramics or something?"

"This new project would be just as safe a choice as ceramics had you not royally fucked things up by losing the flash drive."

His look is murderous once again. Jim turns on his heel and marches out of the room to meet Mr. Harper and the courier. 

By the time I catch up to Jim, he's already confirming the transfer of the courier's payment. I hang back, making my presence known to the stranger but not threatening him. 

The transaction passes without incident, and Jim leaves Mr. Harper to prepare the crates for shipment. Jim and I will remain in town until the farmer finishes in order to manage the quality of packing, but we will not be staying in the farmhouse. 

We drive back to town, where Jim books a hotel room in the nicest place available. He reserves it under a pseudonym just in case. 

"Good evening!" Jim displays his eternally pleasant customer face when he tells the desk attendant, "John Gardener and guest checking in to the deluxe suite."

She takes several seconds searching and finding the name, turning on the charm when she sees he's a big spender. 

"Ah, yes, Mr. Gardener. We've been expecting you! Here are your keys," she makes sure to prominently display the flesh of her partially-covered breasts as she leans over the counter. "The pool and spa are both located on the first floor just down this hallway. If there is anything else you need, please don't hesitate to call the desk."

"Thank you very much--ummmm--"

"Cassie, sir."

She reaches out to brush his arm. This bitch is flirting with him. 

"Cassie," he smiles. 

I turn around to grab our bags and smirk as I walk toward the elevator. As we ride to our floor, I can't resist making a comment. 

"That bitch was barking up the wrong tree, eh boss?"

Jim just stares at me with an amused expression. 

"What are you on about, Sebastian? I happen to enjoy the company of a lovely woman on occasion."

"Yeah, but not in that way."

"What other way could I possibly be referring to?"

I clam up, my face falling, realizing for the first time that my assumptions about Jim's sexual orientation could be totally off. 

Then he leans forward and whispers, "However, there is nothing quite like feeling a strong man fall apart in your hands...or mouth."

Jim licks from my jaw to earlobe and gives me a look when he steps out of the elevator that explains in detail every thing he has ever wanted to do to me. 

I hope we have separate rooms tonight. I need some time to think.

I also need to call Sherlock. 

Fortunately, there is more than one bedroom in the suite, so I get my own room. 

Unfortunately, Jim face shows a mix between anger and sadness when I choose to sleep in my own room. 

Was he really expecting me to sleep with him after the ups and downs of the past day?

"I just..." 

How do I phrase this?

"I need some time to myself."

"Very well, Sebastian."

Jim pinches the bridge of his nose and dismisses me with a wave. 

It is only eight, but I need some time to decompress from the events of the day. I also need to talk to Sherlock. Ever since we've begun dating, it doesn't feel right when I don't end the night by talking to him. 

After what happened on the train earlier, I'm still not clear as to whether or not calling him is a good idea. 

Before I have a chance to throw caution to the wind, my phone begins buzzing rhythmically. 

A phone call. 

It's him. 

What am I going to say?

I shake my head and answer the phone, lying back on the bed. 

"Evening, Sherl. How's things?"

"They're fine. I miss you though."

"I miss you too."

I'm trying to keep my voice down, knowing that Jim will make my life hell if he hears me talking to Sherlock. 

"It's not fair that you had to leave again right after you returned."

"I know," my breath catches, "but I'll make it up to you when I'm back. They sent me out of town on a business trip."

Silence on the other end. 

"Maybe you can find a nice case to keep you distracted while I'm gone. And I'll call you as much as I can."

"Will you stay on the phone with me for a bit longer tonight? I'm just," he sighs, "lonely."

"Of course."

We stay on the phone for at least an hour, talking about some crazy new things Sherlock has learned about Mrs. Hudson's sordid past--a stripper?--and what the Watsons were up to--the baby was due within the next month. 

It was during this phone conversation that I began to realize just how involved I'd become in the intimate details of Sherlock's life. 

Fuck. 

And what does it mean that I actually care about these details?

Probably that I loved him. 

Fuck again. 

"Sebastian? You there?"

I snapped out of my stupor, realizing that I hadn't heard a thing Sherlock had said for the past few minutes. 

"Yeah," I clear my throat, "Yes. I'm sorry. I'm getting sleepy and must've drifted off a bit."

"Oh."

He sounds sad. 

"I can let you go if you want, so you can get a good night's rest."

"No. I'm fine, Sherl. If you don't mind, I'd like for you to talk to me until I fall asleep. I've missed sleeping in the same bed as you. "

Sherlock frequently drones on about cases, random facts, or whatever else was running through his mind until he falls asleep. 

"Whatever you'd like," he replies. 

I smile and readjust on the bed to get more comfortable. Most people don't see him as a caregiver, but Sherlock would do anything for those he loves. 

"Tell me about what you did while I was gone,"  
I whisper. 

Sherlock tells me every detail about what I missed in the three days I was absent from his life. 

Or I think he does. 

I drift off to sleep to the velvety tones of his voice, completely relaxed.


	6. Love is Confirmed

The next morning I wake up slowly. I feel so warm and comfortable that I don't want to get out of bed. 

It is the best sleep I'd had in almost a week. 

Then I remember why: Sherlock. 

I grab my phone and immediately send him a text. He won't be awake for a few hours still, but I want him to see this when he wakes up. 

"Good morning! Best sleep I've had in several days, thanks to you."

I bite my lip in concentration as I type out a second message. 

"I love you."

I hit send before I have a chance to take it back. 

 

This is the first time I've told him.

I sigh and throw my legs over the side of the bed, sitting up and rubbing my face. 

"Oh my god," I groan to no one. 

Dumping soap into the jacuzzi tub and watching the foam rise, I realize that Jim never gave me a time to be ready. 

Fuck him. I don't care. 

I step into the tub, slide down until only my face is above the bubbles, and slap the button to turn on the jets. My muscles are enjoying the massaging action. 

Then I remember the spa downstairs. I wonder what services they offer. 

Mental note: check on that later. 

After I spend too long in the jacuzzi bath, I get dressed and head out into the main room of the suite. There's a note on the kitchen table. 

"Sebastian: Gone out on errands. Will be in touch later. -JM"

Why did he have to sign everything with his initials? It was obviously he who wrote the letter. He was the only other person here. 

I try to hang out on the couch and watch some tv, but my brain will not stop racing with thoughts about Jim and Sherlock. Finally, I get so tired of feeling like I'm losing my mind that I head downstairs to see what the spa has to offer. 

I get to the spa and see the same hotel employee who checked us in last night. 

That Cassie bitch who tried to give Jim a show. 

"Aren't you the woman who checked in my associate and me last night? Cassie, right?"

I’d like to claw that bitch’s eyes out for looking at my boss that way. I shouldn't be this--what am I?--jealous.

Fuck. 

Good thing I'm skilled at hiding my emotions. 

"That's right! You're really great with names, you know. I'm sorry to admit that I didn't catch yours last night, sir."

I offer my hand to her, smiling so she can see my full set of teeth. 

"Well, it would be difficult to forget someone as beautiful as you. My name is Sebastian."

She gently takes my hand and shakes it, blushing at my compliment. I try my hardest to keep my eyes on her face, but they do wander down to what she's wearing. 

Cassie was sporting a good deal less clothing than she was last night. Instead of the suit the front desk people wore, the spa uniform involved a low cut, tight tank top and form fitting shorts that stopped at the top of her thighs.

I'll admit, she is very attractive and appeals very much to the other side of my sexuality: the one that isn't getting much action currently. I love the thrill of finding a woman who is great in bed. Most men know how to fuck men because we've been doing it to ourselves our entire lives. But a woman who knows how to really fuck a man? Priceless. 

"What can I help you with this morning, Sebastian?"

 

Cassie breaks me out of my reverie politely, and I start. 

"Apologies. I must've been lost in thought. To be quite honest with you, I've been under a lot of stress and was looking to relax. Do you have any suggestions for what I could do?"

I notice that she's leaning over the counter again, giving me a full view down her tank top. No bra.

 

Goddamn. 

I feel my cock stir. 

I've got to get the fuck out of here before I do something I'll regret. 

"We offer several different options at the spa. There is the mud bath."

"I've always wanted to try one. Where do I go for that?”

“Just to the end of the hallway, through the door to the right.”

“Excellent. Will I be alone in the mud bath?”

“Yes, sir. I will personally make sure that nobody disturbs you.”

Maybe this girl isn't so bad. 

“Thank you for all of your help, Cassie.”

I walk to the mud room without another word. Once in there, I disrobe and slide into the muddy pool. 

“Oh my goddd,” I practically moan. 

The heavy, slick, warm mud covering nearly every inch of my body feels borderline erotic. 

I float. I spread out. I do not think about Sherlock or Jim. Instead, I think about Cassie at the front desk and how sexy she'd look covered in mud, my hand instinctively dropping to slowly massage my cock and balls. 

I gasp and moan softly but allow myself to go no further than this. Although I'm trying my hardest to avoid thinking about the two men I love, it still feels like cheating when the thought of wanking to my fantasy of Cassie crosses my mind. 

Frustrated that I can't even get away from them here, I climb out of the mud bath, shower off, get dressed, and return to the suite. 

When I walk into the main room of the suite, I see Jim sitting at the kitchen table, typing furiously on his laptop. He looks agitated. 

"Where have you been, Moran? I needed your help an hour ago."

"Sorry, boss. I took a trip to the spa. Enjoyed a mud bath."

"Oh, how lovely for you," he mocks me. "I'm so glad you've found a way to relax since this is a FUCKING HOLIDAY IN THE COUNTRYSIDE!"

Jim stares at me with wild eyes. 

“Do you have something you need to tell me?”

“No, sir,” I couldn't think of anything I needed to confess. 

Jim clenches and unclenches his fists, then cracks his knuckles before calmly saying, “I saw your text to Sherlock.”

Shit. 

I must've left my phone up here. 

I hang my head, waiting for the cruel blow. 

“I'm rather disappointed, Sebastian. It's so cliche. Falling in love with your target. This will not do.”

“I'm sorry, boss.”

"You will get undressed and bend over the kitchen table."

 

“No.”

It seems that my little declaration of love earlier has given me a new strength.

“Pardon? You seem to think you have a choice.”

“I know I've fucked up, but I also know that I love you. And--,” I take a deep breath,”I think you love me too.”

He straightens his tie before removing his suit jacket and laying it over the back of a chair. Next, he undoes his cuff links and rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. 

This can't be good. 

 

Swift, like a fox, Jim has me pinned to the couch cushions and slaps me so hard, my eyes sting. 

“I don’t love you. You're just a plaything,” he smirks and giggles a bit. 

“Whatever you say, Jim.”

I’m feeling defiant and reckless. All of my cards are on the table at this point.

 

His eyes narrow and he spits. 

“What did you call me?”

“...Jim. It is your name.”

He slaps me again. 

“Call me that again, and I'll gag you.”

I stare back, daring him.

“Is that a promise, Jim?”

The next thing I know, Jim is dragging me by my hair to his bedroom, reaching into the dresser and producing a leather gag. He straps it around my mouth and tethers my hands to the bed with rope. 

“I did warn you, Sebastian.”

"Please," I groan through the gag. 

I’m not panicking, but I do want him to stop and think about what I’ve said.

"What now, Moran? You're fucking useless, you know."

He removes the gag for a moment. 

"I--," and this was the hardest thing to admit, “I know you love me."

"Nonsense. I don't love you. I despise your weakness."

"Admit it. That's why you go crazy every time Sherlock's name comes up and each time he texts me."

Jim's face is looking more and more angry as I reveal his true desires, but then, as if something in him breaks, Jim sighs, replaces the gag, and sits in a chair across from me. 

"I'll confess. You're not wrong. Do you know that you're the first employee I've let get away with a stupid mistake?"

He covers his face with his hands, then chuckles. 

"You've become my weakness, you dick."

I half-laugh, half-sigh knowing that this is only going to continue to complicate things. 

I can't believe Jim Moriarty is actually admitting he loves me.

He stands up and growls at me. Jim’s personality is changeable, but I’ve never seen him switch back and forth so rapidly.

“For once, you're going to follow my orders. Stay and be a good boy while I decide your punishment.”

I honestly have no idea what my “punishment” is going to entail. 

Shit.


	7. Punishment is Served

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically all smut (sorry about that). BDSM warning. Apologies if that's not your thing.

"Get in your bedroom. Now you're really going to be punished for your improper behavior."

 

I walk into my bedroom and sigh, sitting on the bed. 

 

Jim removes my gag, and I wipe the drool from around my mouth. 

"What's my punishment?"

Jim tosses my phone to me. He must've nicked it when I set it on the table. 

"Call him. You're going to tell him what you've just told me."

No. 

"I can't."

"You can and you will, Moran. Or did you forget who gives the orders?"

I look away, blinking at the tears I refuse to let him see. 

"No, sir."

I pick up the phone and ring Sherlock. He picks up almost immediately. 

"Sebastian? Is everything alright?"

"It depends on how you view things."

"What is it?"

"I--I need to tell you something."

I look at Jim pleadingly, but his face is firm. 

"Okay. You're scaring me a bit."

"Sherlock, I love you."

Jim walks over to me, pushing me back on the bed and kissing my neck as he presses his knee against the crotch of my jeans. I barely breathe, afraid to make a sound. 

"I know, love. You told me earlier this morning. I'm sorry I never responded..."

Jim unbuttons my shirt and kisses down my chest to my stomach, licking the dusting of hair below my navel. 

It's getting hard to concentrate. This must be my real punishment. 

"...the truth is, I love you too, Sebastian."

 

Jim makes a face of disgust when he hears Sherlok. 

"I'm glad. Because there's more."

Jim reaches his hand down my pants and wraps it around my cock, slowly stroking it and grinding against me. 

"You--uh--," the sensation causes me to break my train of thought, and I buck up into his hand, "you know my employer."

Jim leans forward and whisper moans in my ear like the sexy version of the Devil on a cartoon character's shoulder. 

"Good boy, Sebastian. Now tell him."

Sherlock sounds confused, "I do?"

"Jim Moriarty."

Dead silence on the other end of the phone, so I might as well get it all out at once. 

"And I'm in love with him too."

With that confession, Jim kisses me passionately and possessively as he grabs the phone from my hand, hits the speakerphone button, and strokes me faster. I moan at a volume that's a good bit more than a whisper. 

"Hi, Sherlock. Miss me?"

"Somewhat, if I'm to be truthful. So you're my boyfriend's employer."

"Hmmm. Yes. You could call me that. You might also call me his owner. Isn't that right, Sebby?"

Jim holds the phone to my mouth, but as I'm about to reply, he rolls his thumb over the head of my cock and I moan loudly. 

Damn. 

Jim is not letting up on his stroking either. He's got me on edge. 

"Sebastian, I think we should discuss this when you return."

Jim makes a face and replies, "Sebastian can't answer because he's about to come right now. But I agree Sherlock. We should all sit down. He's been quite the naughty boy."

"You're sick," is all Sherlock says. He sounds like he could be crying. 

"Oh don't be a poor sport. I was going to let you listen to him come. Wouldn't you like to hear?"

Jim rocks on me furiously, using his delicate fingers to manipulate my length until I can no longer hold my noises in. He holds the speaker close to my mouth as I arch my back painfully, grabbing Jim's hips and trying to force more contact as I come hard into his hand, practically yelling "fuck" over and over. 

Fuck is right. 

I'm fucked in every sense of the word.

Jim hangs up the phone, tossing it back over his shoulder. 

“Now where were we?”

I practically growl, “You were hurting someone I love.”

“Ohhh right: punishment.”

Jim stands up at the end of the bed. 

“Moran, I want you to lie on the bed properly now. Head on the pillows. Face up.”

I do as he commands. Fighting would just result in more pain for me or Sherlock. 

Jim gags and tethers me to the headboard again, but this time he adds tethers to my ankles. Then he leaves the room for several minutes. 

Just as panic is about to set in, he walks in with a jar of hot wax on a warmer and a riding crop. 

“Mmmmm mm m--,” I forgot I have the gag in. 

“Ah ahhh, Moran.”

Jim whacks my inner right thigh with the riding crop. 

I feel the skin start to whelp and moan. He got dangerously close to my--”Mmmmmmmmmmm.” Strike that. The crop is caressing my stiffness. 

“Enjoy it, Moran. That's the last time I'll be touching you there today.”

As Jim moves the crop away, I thrust upward, trying desperately to make contact again. For that, I get another swat on my thigh. 

Jim dips a small ladle into the jar of hot wax and holds it just over the top of my chest. 

Drip. 

I want to scream. The pain is extreme. 

Drip. 

“Mmm.”

That's a bit better. Some of the pleasure is coming through. 

Drip. 

“Mmmmmmmmmmm.”

I arch my back up off the bed, and Jim grins wickedly. 

“Right. No more of that. You're enjoying it a bit too much.”

After smacking me with the riding crop a several more times and raising many more welts, Jim removes my gag. 

“It's too boring without your talking and noises. But say something I don't like, and you'll spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

He stands next to the bed and undresses. 

I study the gentle curves of his body as the fabric slides across his skin. God, I wish I could touch him. 

Jim stands inches away from my face, begins stroking himself, and moans softly. 

I turn my head to the side and try to stick my tongue out to touch the tip his cock. Before I have a chance to taste him, I feel his strong grip pulling my hair. 

“Would my precious soldier like to taste me?”

“Yes...please.”

“Only because I want you too, and because you look so delicious lying there tied up like that.”

Jim brings his hips forward, pressing past my still-closed lips and ramming his cock down my throat. While he's still in my mouth, he climbs on the bed to sit on my chest. Gripping my hair tighter to keep me in the right position, he fucks my mouth furiously. 

It's a good thing I learned to breathe through my nose. 

Once Jim is good and hard, he stands up and moves between my legs, stroking his cock more. 

“Do you know what I'm going to do to you, Moran?”

“You're going to fuck.”

“Well, you're half-right.”

He shoves two fingers inside of me, pumping them. 

“Ohhhhhhh godddd,” I moan. 

“But that's not all. I'm going to fuck you and plug you up, so you get to be full of my come when we go have our little meeting with Sherlock tomorrow.”

He inserts another finger and curls them as he tells me this. 

I can do nothing but moan, and despite the fact that I love Sherlock, the idea of keeping Jim’s come inside me is hot. My cock twitches and betrays me. 

“Would you like that, Moran?”

“Mmmmmmmmm yessssss.”

Suddenly, Jim’s fingers are gone, and he is slamming fully into my ass. 

My hips are coming up off the bed with every thrust Jim makes, and I'm whimpering. 

He doesn't draw out our session any longer than necessary, not even to let me come. With a deep moan, Jim comes inside of me, plugging me up immediately after pulling out. 

The fullness I still feel is incredible. If something so much as brushed against my cock at this point, I would explode in orgasm. 

Jim stands up to untie me but has second thoughts. 

“I'm going to leave you tied up for a while longer. I wouldn't want you ruining all my hard work by touching yourself.”

As he's walking out the door with his phone in his hand, Jim turns around. 

“Oh. One more thing, Moran,” he opens an app on his phone and presses something.

I feel vibrations move through my body, and my cock starts leaking more.

Jim’s eyebrow arches as he smirks at me wickedly. 

“Your plug is also a vibrator that I can control from my phone.”

With that information, he leaves me writhing on the bed with the vibrator set as low as possible to prevent me from coming. 

Fuck.


	8. Peace is Negotiated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I've had a crazy month and not kept up with writing like I should've. I will try my best to update at least once a week. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience!

I wake up the next morning covered in a sheen of sweat. I must've passed out at some point last night while Jim still had the vibrating butt plug working me over. At least the torturous vibrations have stopped. 

Speak of the Devil, and he doth appear. 

Apparently he doth appear to undo my bindings. 

"Sebastian, you're going to have a shower with me this morning, so I can make sure you don't remove that lovely little plug."

"Yes, sir," I utter weakly as I sit up and try to stand. 

I almost collapse, so Jim helps me walk to the shower, setting me on the edge of the bath as he turns on the water. 

"Alright, time to get in."

Much like a nurse, Jim gently helps me into the shower and begins to lather soap over my body to help me get clean. 

Unlike a nurse—at least like none I've ever met—Jim's soapy hand travels down to my cock, massaging it. Then stroking it. 

"Sebastian, would you like to come? I know you didn't get to last night," Jim's voice is silky smooth in my ear. 

My brain is so scrambled by his touch that I can't respond other than moan. 

"And what if I removed your plug just for a little bit, hmmm? Just to pump more of my come into you before we see your precious boyfriend."

I am ashamed to say that I moan even louder at that. 

Jim clucks his tongue at me, "You're a pitiful mess, Sebastian."

He strokes me faster as I feel his hand removing my plug and the head of his cock rapidly replacing it. 

"S--sorry," I whimper. 

Jim doesn't say another word, hammering into my ass roughly as he strokes my cock. 

I don't last long as an orgasm strong enough to make me weak-kneed takes over within minutes. 

He doesn't give me time to recover before he pulls out and reinserted the plug, slapping my ass when it's back in. 

"That's a beautiful sight."  
\--  
After one last visit to Mr. Harper's farm, where Jim mercifully allows me to stay in the car, we are off to the train station. 

I am excited to return to London until I remember what is waiting for me when I arrive. Picking up my phone, I send a text to Sherlock. 

"I'm truly sorry. For everything. Please forgive me. I love you."

Jim pulls out his phone, and I feel a sudden vibration deep within me. 

Fuck. 

"Pathetic, really, Sebastian. You're so obvious."

I sulk in the corner of the car, trying not to react to the sensations running through me. 

One torturous train ride later, we are at the station and heading to 221B. 

There are all sorts of bugs crawling through my stomach. 

"You know, Sebastian. I'm not as cruel as you think I am."

He gently places his hand on my thigh and rubs it. Talk about distracted driving. 

"You're not?"

Jim smiles sadly, "All that I do is out of concern and necessity."

"Oh. I know. Or I think I do."

I don't know what to say to that at all. Thank goodness we've arrived at Sherlock's. 

Never thought I'd say that. 

I knock on the door to the flat, and Sherlock opens the door. 

"Sher--"

He punches me so hard that it knocks me out before I can fully get his name out of my mouth. The last thing I hear is Jim chuckling in the background as I crumple to the floor. 

There's no telling how long I stayed knocked out, but when I regain consciousness, I'm still on the floor. Sherlock and Jim are seated in arm chairs facing each other and talking amiably.

Jim must've stepped over my body as I lay there. 

Bastard. 

"It's about time you joined us, Sebastian," the sly Irishman intones. 

"Indeed. I rather thought you might be down for the count," the detective adds. 

I spit, "Fuck you both."

Jim giggles, "Oh noooo, Sebastian. You'd like that a bit too much."

"Not after that shit."

"Come now, Sebastian. Let's have a chat. I'm afraid your tea has gone cold by now."

I stand and find a seat in a chair between the two arm chairs. As if I wasn't already dreading this interaction enough, now I have a splitting headache. 

"Got any aspirin? My head is sore."

Sherlock hops up and hands me two pills after rummaging about. 

"Thanks."

"Of course."

"Enough already. Let's get down to business, lads. Sherlock, we have quite the problem. Our sweet Sebastian seems to have gotten confused in the line of duty and fallen for you, which is only complicated by the fact that he's also fallen for me. I'm afraid he's quite the emotional slut."

"Oi!" I yell. 

I'm not about to let anyone insult me like that. 

"I see," utters Sherlock. "It's also further complicated by the fact that I've known Sebastian was working for you all along. Surely you don't think I'm that stupid."

"Hardly."

"Excellent."

"Quite."

This is like watching a tennis match: nerve wrecking but exhilarating. 

"Did you enjoy what I left for you on his flash drive?"

"Are you referring to the--"

"Yes."

"They were lovely. I look forward to seeing that in person."

"Can't wait for you to. That one was complicated to say the least."

"What the fuck are you two on about?" I interrupt. 

Their heads both turn to look at me as if they forgot I existed for a few moments. 

"Our detective will have a new case to solve very soon."

"I don't know what I did to deserve this. It feels like my birthday.".

"Back to business," Jim reminds Sherlock, "You are forgetting one last complication though."

"I am?"

Jim stands up, closing the gap between him and Sherlock by sitting in his lap, and kisses him deeply. 

"Oh," blushes Sherlock, "That."


	9. Crisis is (not) Averted

So there it is. 

I wish I could say I handle the "big reveal" well. I wish I could even say that I handle it okay. 

I don't. 

"Are you fucking serious?!"

"Sebastian, there's no need to get testy," warns Jim in his smooth but deadly voice. 

Sherlock just watches me with big eyes and looks a bit—what is that emotion? sorrowful?

"I will get however I fucking please. You lied to me. You both lied to me."

I am ready to throw it all away. 

Full self-destruct mode. 

I get like this when I feel out of control or bested. 

Standing from my position in the chair, I make a move for the door. 

"Moran. Stop right there."

So he wants to give me orders now? I shake my head, suck in a deep breath, and turn around. 

"Mr. Moriarty, please accept my formal resignation from your employment. I have enjoyed working for you and wish you all the best."

Cold. Calculated. Businesslike. Fuck him. 

I continue, "Sherlock, I'm afraid that I can no longer have any sort of relationship with you. I wish you good luck with your endeavors."

With that, I'm out of there and on the street, moving quickly while weaving through crowds. 

I need a drink. 

But then I feel the vibrations start within me again. Fuck him. He's still toying with me like his plaything. 

I need to go back to my flat and remove this fucking thing first. 

It takes virtually no time to make it to my flat: it isn't far from Baker Street. In less than thirty minutes I've showered, removed that awful thing, and dressed. 

Time to find a pub. Or a club. Maybe both. Definitely both. 

The first place I hit up is the local dive. It's practically empty as I find a seat at the far end of the bar, practicing my fuck off face for when people do start nipping by for a drink. 

The bartender, a greasy looking bloke who hasn't bothered to shave since the nineties, asks my order. 

"Whiskey. Jameson if you have it. Two fingers. Neat," I grimace at him. 

"Rough day?" 

"You've no clue," I hesitate. "You know what? Leave the bottle."

"You ain't fuckin about, are ya?"

I just grunt in reply. 

He leaves the bottle and busies himself tidying the bar, having gotten the message that I don't want to talk. 

Three glasses in, and I'm feeling warm and fuzzy—not to be mistaken with cuddly. 

Remembering how Jim (that fucker) tried to manipulate me by activating that stupid toy, I pull out my phone and send him a text. 

"You can quit fucking around with that toy now. I've destroyed it. You have no influence over me anymore."

My phone buzzes in less than thirty seconds. 

"Then why are you texting?"

It buzzes again. 

"I'm getting bored, Sebastian. Don't be boring."

A third buzz. 

It's a picture, zoomed in so you have to concentrate hard to get the whole picture. 

I squint into the shadows and see the outline of a lower lip and teeth finally. They're pressed hard against a very prominent, pale Adam's apple. 

Sherlock's Adam's apple. 

That dick. 

I don't respond. That's what he wants me to do: freak out and prove that he's right. That I am still desperate for them both. 

I am, but I have too much pride to admit that to him. 

I kill the bottle. It wasn't really a full bottle. Maybe only half-full. 

Guess I am optimistic, after all. 

I chuckle to myself.

After settling my tab, I find a cab and head to my next spot. Usually after I'm well-lubricated, I like to head to the club to blow off steam. The one I'm headed to tonight is guaranteed to help me forget about my issues. 

Regaining my composure as I enter the club, my train of thought is immediately derailed by one of the cage dancers to my right. 

Cliché, I know. 

Still. He's hot. 

Slight frame, dark hair, pale skin—

Fuck. I might as well be describing both of them. 

Maybe it's like creating the antivenin for a snake. I have to partake in the venom to find the cure. 

It doesn't take long to form a plan. I walk to the bar directly across from his cage about thirty feet away: the perfect distance to make eye contact with him. 

Same drink as before, I take a sip and raise my eyes to meet his. 

Battle stations. 

Ten minutes in, my hand is resting on my cock, which is straining against my jeans. 

Twenty minutes, and he's gesturing for me to come dance with him. 

Twenty-five minutes: I'm shirtless and kissing him. 

Thirty minutes: his hand is pressing me tighter against him. 

Thirty-five minutes: I say, "We have an audience."

He responds, "Invite him to join us if you'd like."

I beckon our number one fan up here. 

Forty minutes: I'm in a make out sandwich between two men who look strangely like the two men I love. 

But I'm not thinking about that. 

"Wanna get out of here?" I ask them both. "My place is down the street."

Instead of an answer, they both practically drag me out of the cage and to a cab.


	10. Intercourse is Had

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all sex. I didn't originally plan for that to happen, but it did. So...enjoy. (I hope.)

I slur my address to the driver and practically crawl into the cab behind the shorter of the men—let's call him Jay, and I pull the taller one—let's call him Ess—behind me. It's a tight fit, so I use it as an opportunity to pull Jay onto my lap. Cupping his jaw, I suckle his lower lip before biting it into a kiss. 

Ess's hand is rubbing my abs, searching for the hem of my shirt. He leans in to kiss my neck as he lifts the hem and slips his hand down the front of my jeans, squeezing my cock. 

I gasp, breaking the kiss with Jay to look at Ess. My left hand fumbles until it finds the bulge in Ess's lap, and I begin teasing it over the fabric. 

Suddenly, I feel the car brake and hear the driver announce my address. 

"Boys, shall we adjourn to my flat?" I ask with a smirk. 

This is gonna be fun. 

Stumbling up the stairs and cracking jokes along the way, we finally arrive at my door. After several jabs with the key, I manage to make it fit in the hole (and drunkenly giggle at that thought). 

"Welcome to my humble abode!" I announce, closing the door behind my two lovely guests, "Bathroom is through that door. Bedroom is the other door. Make yourselves at home."

I walk to the kitchen, splash some water on my face, and walk up to Jay. 

"Hungry? Thirsty?"

"Not for anything in the kitchen," he replies as he pulls me closer to him by the waist of my jeans, which he is quickly undoing. 

"Shouldn't we wait for Ess?"

I watch Jay slowly kneel before me. God that's hot.

"He can join once he's finished," at that, Jay drags my jeans down over my stiff cock and looks up at me, "don't you agree?"

He doesn't give me time to answer. The spot of precome staining my purple mesh underwear becomes a part of a much larger stain as Jay traces the outline of my hardness with his tongue and mouth. 

"Ohhhhhhh, Christ," I thread my fingers through his hair and buck a bit under his touch. If I don't move, my knees will buckle. "Let me sit down."

He nods, and I walk over to my armchair, shimmying down my pants before I sit down. 

Jay crawls toward me slowly, wraps his hand around the base of my cock, and licks the head, slowly swirling his tongue around it. 

I arch up against his mouth. 

"More," I can barely gasp. It's been so long. 

Just then, Ess returns from the bathroom, leaning over the back of the chair to give me a deep kiss. 

"I might be able to help you with more."

Ess gets on his knees next to Jay, reaching out to massage my balls as he kisses Ess across my cock. They take turns tasting my length and other areas of my body. 

I slide down the chair to provide them with total access to my lower body, and I'm not disappointed. 

At some point, Ess crawls up to straddle me. I slip my fingers into his ass gradually to prepare him for myself. As I finger Ess, Jay is fingering me, making sure to brush against my sweet spot. 

Ess removes my fingers and eases himself down on my cock. As he's doing so, I feel Jay pressing his cock inside of me, matching Ess's pace. 

I'm sure I'm making inhuman noises at this point, but between the alcohol and the pleasure, I don't care. 

The boys are doing their damnedest to make me come right now. I want to enjoy this though. 

I grip Ess's hips so tightly that there will likely be bruising, but he only cares if I'm slamming into him hard enough (I am). I wrap my legs so tightly Jay's waist to try to pull him deeper. 

God, sex doesn't get much better than this. 

I'm cresting and cresting, growing ever closer to a powerful orgasm. 

"Sorry I'm late to the party, boys!"

That bastard. 

I groan loudly and look at the door. 

"Get the fuck out, Jim," I growl. 

"Oh, Sebby, you and I both know that's not going to happen. Now why don't you have your friends scurry along before someone gets hurt." 

Jim could draw a gun if he wanted but his voice is scary enough. 

The look on the two strangers' faces is confused. 

"Is he your..." Jay begins. 

"No. My boss."

"Oh," he says softly, pulling out of me and helping Ess off of my lap. 

"You can stay if you want."

"No they can't, Sebby. We have business."

I scribble something on two scraps of paper and hand one to each of them. 

"My number," I explain. 

"Thanks," they say as they quickly throw on their clothes. 

As soon as the door is closed behind both of them, Jim chastises me. 

"Shame, Sebastian. I nearly brought Sherlock with me. That would've broken his heart to see."

He walks over to where I'm sitting in the chair, still naked. 

"Now. Time to take care of business."

Jim leans down to kiss me, and I wish I could say I resist it.

I don't. 

I practically melt against Jim, playing with his hair, moving my lips against his, unbuttoning his shirt and trousers. 

"Sebastian, you have an outrageously beautiful cock," he moans as he kisses down my jaw. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Don't believe so."

"I'd really like to have it inside me, currently. Could you be a dear?"

My fingers are already moving down the back of his trousers. I look up at Jim. His shirt is unbuttoned, hair askew; he looks thoroughly debauched. So sexy. 

I move my finger to tease his entrance, but there's something hard in the way. 

Jim leans forward and whispers, "After you left, I let Sherlock fuck me to prepare me for you."

He sucks on my earlobe, and I can feel him grow harder. 

I twist the plug a bit and slur, "Next time, we can fuck you at the same time."

Jim kisses me, stands up to completely strip, and settles back on my lap. 

"Remove the plug for me, Sebby?" he pouts lustily. 

I grip the base and pull it out of him slowly. As I get to the end, he grabs my cock and presses it against his entrance, taking my length fully in one go. 

Before I realize it, he's riding me roughly. So roughly that the flat is filled with the sound of slapping skin. 

He bends over and bites the skin of my chest. And neck. And shoulder. 

I pick him up and move him to the bed for a different angle, lifting his hips and thrusting into him at a break-neck pace. 

Both of us are making incoherent animal sounds. 

It doesn't take long for me to come hard inside him, especially once Jim starts squeezing and shuddering around my cock. 

I collapse on the bed next to him, grabbing his cock and milking it mindlessly as I pass out.


	11. Breakfast is Served

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be the penultimate chapter in the story. It's wandered on long enough now. Thanks to everyone who has read it.

I drift hazily in and out of sleep. The room is dark, quiet, and cold, save for the small space heater of a man currently curled against my chest. 

I return to some of the most restful slumber I've ever had and wake up when the room begins to heat up more, streaks of sunlight pushing through the loosely woven fibers of the curtains.

There’s a distinct aroma dancing around the room. Is that breakfast cooking? 

Someone's definitely moving around in the kitchen, bumping the occasional pot or pan, but who? Jim's still contentedly wrapped up in my arms. 

His face is downright cherubic when he's asleep. 

Carefully and quietly, so as not to disturb Jim or arouse the attention of my visitor, I unwind my arms from around my bedfellow, reaching for my pistol as my feet inaudibly land on the worn wooden floor. 

My tacit entrance entrance into the kitchen goes wholly and shockingly unobserved by my visitor: Sherlock Holmes. I lower my gun, chuckling quietly. 

Sherlock starts.”How long have you been there?” the world’s most observant detective inquires.

“I could ask you the same.”

“Ah. But you didn’t. I thought you two might be hungry after a night of physical exertion.”

“You’re not wrong,” I smiled as I walked over to him at the stove, wrapping my arms around the thin man’s waist and pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. 

Sherlock stiffens slightly. “Sebastian, we need to talk…”

Oh no. This is concerning. “Hm?” I try to act unfazed.

“I’ve reconsidered our current situation, and based on the evidence in front of me, I feel that it would be both inconvenient and undesirable to be in a polyamorous relationship with you and Jim.”

“Oh. What makes it undesirable?”

“Your extreme reaction last night proved what I’ve thought might happen all along: jealousy will get the better of everyone. Aside from that, Jim doesn’t love you. You’re a plaything to him. It’s not that I don’t enjoy your company, but I feel that at this juncture--”

“Plaything?” I pull away from Sherlock, feeling disoriented as I bump into something. Someone.

“Sherlock, dear. Why would you ever steal my thunder by telling Sebastian that before I addressed it?” Jim queries.

I can feel my blood pressure rising, adrenaline pumping, heart racing. I turn around to face Jim, gritting my teeth. “Addressed what?”

“Sebastian, don’t be stupid. Did you really think I could love you?” Jim sneers.

My heart feels like it is going to stop. Jim doesn’t return my affections after all. “Not initially, but you told me--”

“I told you what I needed to tell you in order to get what I wanted. That is all.”

I look to Sherlock, who is staring down at the floor. 

“Say something, you coward. Did you know this the whole time? You made a ruddy fool out of me to play your little game with each other. Did you know that this was a part of the game too?”

Sherlock whispers, “Yes.”

The smell of charred meat emanates from the stovetop. Breakfast is ruined. 

I am frozen, unable to shift to ease my discomfort. Unable to hide from the two men who have simultaneously brought joy to my life and made it a living hell. 

Jim gathers his clothing, neatly assembling the suit he arrived to my apartment in last night. As he opens the door to my flat, he calls back over his shoulder, “Coming Sherlock? Sebastian, I will send a car for you at noon. You have a new assignment.”

Sherlock quickly follows behind Jim, an almost apologetic look in his eyes. Probably not sincere. 

I am left standing there, expected to clean up the charred remains of both breakfast and my heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is only the second fic I've written alone, so any feedback is appreciated.
> 
> Follow me at packyourknivesandgo.tumblr.com


End file.
